


Of Seeds and Trees and Gardeners

by 100percentclass



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2791817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100percentclass/pseuds/100percentclass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another fic about cultural confusion, including quite a lot of Thorin failing to court Bilbo, and Bilbo failing to realize that the Shire's traditions might not be so obvious to those who are not from the Shire. Everybody involved is a bit pathetic at working all this out.</p><p>Notes:<br/>1. Work in progress.<br/>2. I am shamelessly ignoring canon timelines, and I'm pretty much rewriting hobbit culture to suit a concept I had. That is, in fact, the basis for this fic, so you've been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_To His Majesty Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain:_

_Most pleasant greetings from the Shire! Thank you for your letter, and for your kind inquiries; Spring is blooming all around Bag End, and I think there has been a new party nearly every week to celebrate the changing weather. We have taken to leaving garlands and buntings of every color strung out around the Party Tree to spare the need to redecorate for each new affair. To be honest, I suspect you would despise it!_

_Nonetheless, I hope that Spring has come in its own way to my friends in Erebor, and I dearly wish that you all have a taste of the good cheer that the melting snow has delivered to the Shire. I would be glad to hear news of the Company, and of the restoration of the mountain. Please write again soon._

_Now that the necessary (though entirely sincere) pleasantries are out of the way, I find I must come to the central point of this letter. To be honest, I have never struggled so terribly with a piece of correspondence. Your letter has been sat on my desk for months now, patiently awaiting a reply, but I have found myself simply unable to do it. At last, though, here we are, and you shall have your answer. Forgive me if I must take a very long breath and a very strong drink before I continue._

_I thank you for your renewed invitation to join you in Erebor. It is truly heartwarming to know that I always have a welcome with the line of Durin, be it as a visitor or as a resident. Not to mention, I feel deeply ashamed that a renewed invitation was necessary at all; my supposedly brief trip to "settle my affairs" in the Shire has stretched on for three years now, and I can imagine you have all been wondering what has held me up._

_Unfortunately, I must report that my circumstances have irrevocably changed, and I can no longer follow through on my hopes to relocate my home to join you in the east. To put it briefly, I have a son now, and although this was unexpected to say the least, I intend to embrace my good fortune wholeheartedly, and dedicate myself to being a worthy parent. This means (if you have not guessed) that I must remain in the Shire, in the best interests of the child._

_I think of you all often. Please write again soon, and let me know how you all fare._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End_

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

_To Bilbo Baggins, who persists in associating himself with such a place as Bag End:_

_You cannot be serious! This is a terrible and tasteless joke! Return to Erebor immediately, and explain yourself, before I track you down myself just so that I can stomp upon one of your ridiculous hairy------_

 

"I hope you are not intending to _send_ that sorry excuse for a letter," said a reproachful voice at his back, and Thorin flinched, sending his pen skittering messily across the page. He turned to face Balin, who stood with an armful of documents and a stern look on his face.

Thorin grimaced. “Of course not,” he declared, making a vain attempt not to sound like a chastised child. “I merely found myself interested in taking a moment to vent my feelings.”

Balin raised his eyebrows, looking distinctly unimpressed. “Of course, your Majesty,” he said after a moment’s pause. “When you are finished, ah, _venting your feelings_ , if I could ask you to read and sign these papers, please?” Without waiting for an answer, he dropped the documents directly on top of the half-finished letter and marched out of Thorin’s study.

For a long moment, Thorin sat where he was, pointing his lingering scowl at the unwelcome stack of paperwork that had overrun his desk. A peculiar, uneasy stillness seemed to settle over the room, silence gathering in the corners like dust. And then Thorin let out a loud, anguished groan and fell forward, burying his face in his hands.

He remained like this until Balin returned, bearing a tray full of tea and dense, oaty biscuits clearly intended as a peace offering (or, more accurately, a small consolation to settle his king’s ruffled feathers). At the sight of Thorin’s crumpled posture his face softened and he sighed, setting down his tea tray in favor of a few bracing thumps on Thorin’s back.

“There now, your Majesty,” he murmured, and smiled faintly when Thorin had emerged enough to direct another baleful glare toward him. “Surely things cannot be all so bad. Would you like to talk about it, then?” 

Thorin, as it turned out, needed no further invitation. “I just feel so _defeated_ ,” he lamented, surging up from his chair to begin pacing a feverish circuit around the room. Balin clucked sympathetically and set about pouring a cup of tea. “I have not yet had a chance to even court Master Baggins, and already I have lost him to another! I truly cannot see how I could have prepared myself for such a threat.” 

“Aye, and perhaps there was nothing you could have done,” Balin said gently. He made a valiant effort to suppress a snort as Thorin flung himself dramatically across a couch at the edge of the room, arranging his limbs into an artful, languishing sprawl. “Surely if he was amenable to your courtship, he would have returned, don’t you think? I fear it was simply not meant to be. Here, now. Drink this.”

“Thank you.” Thorin was, Balin suspected, the only dwarf who could maintain a look of brooding anguish as he sipped delicately from a silver teacup. “But Balin, if I must be honest, I cannot imagine he even … oh, may the maker help me!”

“Your Majesty,” Balin said slowly, “are you perhaps intending to suggest … oh, stars. Did our burglar even _know_ of your interest?”

“I cannot imagine he did, Balin. I was hardly the best of friends with him during our journey, and I fear I was still quite delirious from the pain of my injuries when he left us again. Truly, I had planned to breach the subject immediately upon his return to the mountain, but …”

Again, silence filled the room. Balin sat gingerly on the arm of Thorin’s couch and rubbed his palms vigorously across his face. He took a deep breath, and then let it out in a slow, weary sigh. “Well, then,” he said gravely. “Well, then. I suppose we all had assumed – _hoped,_ at least – that you had found a moment to speak to him before he returned home.”

“Alas,” Thorin intoned solemnly, as he selected a biscuit from the tea tray. “I did not.”

 “Well, I suppose that is neither here nor there,” Balin said briskly, and then stood again, neatly brushing dust from his robe. “The matter has been taken off of the table, I’m afraid. Now, I suppose your main question is this: how shall you answer his letter?”

Thorin directed his eyes at the ground and glowered.

“ _Thorin_ ,” said Balin, “you _cannot_ send him a letter like the one you had earlier.”

“I _know_ , I _know_!” Thorin exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “I won’t! I will find something else to do.”

 For perhaps the tenth time that day, Balin found himself directing his sternest frown at the King Under the Mountain. “See that you do,” he declared, gathering up the tea tray. Thorin snatched one last biscuit as Balin headed for the door, crunching it defiantly as he glared his advisor out of the room. Out of respect for his obvious suffering, Balin decided not to mention the biscuit crumbs in his beard.

On the other side of the door, Dwalin leaned against the wall as he cleaned his fingernails with a short blade. He raised his eyebrows at his brother in a silent question. Balin sighed and shook his head.

“It is all a terrible mess,” Balin said gravely, “and I fear that the hobbit does not have any idea what our ridiculous King is going through.”

Dwalin barked out a short, unsympathetic laugh. “That seems fair enough to me. I cannot even recall when Thorin seems to have developed these feelings he now broods over so passionately. It always seemed to me that he found Master Baggins to be somewhat on the unimpressive side.”

“I do agree with you, brother. I have tried to ask him about it, I must confess; but he only turns a rather alarming shade of red and mutters something nonsensical about, ah, acorns, if I recall correctly?”

“Aye,” said Dwalin, “I have heard the same. I fear sense is the last we can expect from poor Thorin, when it comes to matters of the heart. He has always been less than reasonable about these things.”

Balin pulled a face and began to trundle wearily down the corridor, china clattering softly on the tea tray in his hands. “In any case, the matter’s in his hands now. I only hope he can manage a response that is befitting the King of Erebor.”

Dwalin snorted and returned to cleaning his fingernails. 

In the end, Thorin declared that he found the simplest and most peaceable solution, and that everybody must stop bothering him about it. In fact, he had found a very simple solution indeed: he wrote no letter at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been a while, but here is another short chapter, just so that you know I have not completely disappeared. This one features a nice day and an unexpected cat.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

It had been a mild but stubborn winter, and so on the first properly sunny day of April, it was only right that all of Hobbiton had turned out of their holes and set to work in their gardens. Bilbo had begun to diligently sort out his back vegetable patch straight after second breakfast, and after several hours of puffing and grumbling about in the dirt, he settled back on his heels for a long smoke that he had, in his own opinion, quite well earned.

As he sat with his pipe and contentedly regarded his toes, he watched a small shadow spring across the ground before him. "I'll make you a confession, my boy," he addressed it mildly, "It is probably nearly treason to say so, but I have never been much of one for the daily toil of gardening. Enjoying the result? Now, that is quite another thing. Why, for tomatoes alone, there is not much I wouldn't -- good heavens, _what_ is _that_ creature?!

"This," Frodo announced with a great and gleeful solemnity, "Is a _cat!_ "

"And so it is," Bilbo acknowledged, having given up his contemplation of the ground to level the boy with a stern (if somewhat ineffective) scowl. "Perhaps the more practical question would be: where did this _cat_ come from, and _what_ is it doing in my front garden?"

This was apparently exactly the question Frodo had hoped for, and he beamed. "I found it near the fields and I am going to keep it. Here. In Bag End!"

The creature under discussion had thrust its nose contemplatively into Bilbo's gardening supplies, and was rooting around with abandon. It was a shockingly fluffy animal, amber and cream with thick brown stripes; and while cats are always rather substantial-looking when presented alongside a very small hobbit child, this one was particularly large. Frodo had his little arm slung proprietarily across the beast's back, which, since the creature was very nearly as tall as the him, left him leaning rakishly against it. Bilbo wondered momentarily if looks were deceiving, or the boy actually _could_ sink right into the luxurious coat of fur.

There was something rather tragically charming about the entire affair; Bilbo, still somewhat taken off guard by the unexpected entertainment afforded by fatherhood, struggled to maintain a grave expression. "Indeed, I do not think you are," he told Frodo carefully. "I am not even entirely sure where you would keep it; look at this monster! It would probably need its own room!"

"It is fine, it will be fine. We have spare rooms and I will take _very_ good care of it." Already losing interest in the conversation, Frodo had begun to coax his new friend toward the front door, which Bilbo had left wide open to let in the invigorating spring air. 

To the lad's dismay, however, the cat was having none of it. Previously apparently content to be towed around by its affectionate little companion ( _a mystery in itself,_ thought Bilbo), the cat balked the moment Frodo attempted to maneuver its head through into the hobbit hole, and began to back away in distaste.

"Come on, cat," coaxed Frodo, growing impatient, "come on through the door and see your new home, and I will give you another bit of fish!" ( _that's one mystery solved,_ Bilbo mused). The little hobbit began to tug at the fur around its face in an attempt to lead it, not unlike a very small pony, by the nose.

At last the cat had had enough. With a low, muttering complaint, it shook itself free of its captor and went bounding away, around Bag End and off over the hill. As amused as he had been by the entire ordeal, Bilbo couldn't resist a deep sigh of relief to see the back of it. "Not the indoor type, I see," he mused mildly, clamping his teeth around his pipe.

Frodo, however, made a pitiful noise of dismay. "I can't believe it," he wailed. "It ran away! It was going to be my friend."

"Now now, my boy," Bilbo reassured him. "I'm sure it will still be your friend, even if it would rather be ... an outdoor friend. We shall leave bowls of scraps at the door, you see, and I am sure it will visit regularly."

Frodo frowned at him skeptically, disappointed by his failed adventure, but calmed easily at the promise of freshly baked bread and good cheese. Unlike his fluffy friend, he was easily coaxed into the hobbit hole to scrub up for lunchtime. Quite gladly caught up in the duties of child-care, Bilbo herded the boy inside, and promptly forgot about his gardening for the rest of the day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I'm genuinely back to writing this, and it would be nice to get the story going, such as it is.
> 
> (I appreciate the comments and kudos! They've definitely given me the motivation to come back to this.)

Time continued to pass, as it always does, and soon enough five winters and five springs had passed since Bilbo returned to the Shire. It was summer again, and as always, Bilbo had stubbornly resumed his annual battle with the growing things that surrounded Bag End. Today Hamfast Gangee's oldest son had come knocking on his door with four handsome young cherry trees in tow, their roots balled up in coarse burlap and twine, which Bilbo had bought from Hamfast as part of an ambitious plan to turn a neglected plot around the side of the smial into a small orchard. Bilbo, pleased at the acquisition, resigned himself with somewhat less enthusiasm to a morning spent digging sufficiently large holes to house them.

By the time the sun had reached its peak in the sky, Bilbo was feeling uncomfortably grimy and trying not to talk himself into his third smoking break that hour. "I wonder," he muttered to himself as he puffed and sweated and turned another shovelful of soil out of his hole, "why I am able to go nearly three hours without a smoke when I have sat myself down to translate a fine bit of Elvish poetry, but when I am doing a good bit of physical labor, I cannot seem to have enough? Oh, bother, that's another great big root in the way. Perhaps it is time for a little rest after all."

Bilbo furrowed his brow and nodded to himself in solemn satisfaction at his fine new plan. He was admittedly very tired, and the sun was by this time very bright in his eyes, so one mustn't blame him too much if, in this sudden burst of enthusiasm, he turned away from the hole he was digging and immediately tipped sideways into another hole, landing on his backside with an undignified _whump_. He said quite a number of things afterwards, all of them more or less intended as commentary on his current situation, but none of them are particularly suitable to be repeated here.

"Pardon me, Master Hobbit," called a very familiar voice from the garden gate, "but are you quite all right down there?"

And looking up, Bilbo could not suppress the quick and brilliant grin that flashed across his face, because there, grinning back at him, was Kíli, with Ori beaming beside him. Bilbo rapidly schooled his face into an ostentatiously imperious scowl and glared at the two of them from the dirt as they let themselves in. "I thank you, Master Dwarf," he responded gravely, "But I assure you that I am fine. Certainly you must know that this is what all gentlehobbits will do to take their leisure on a hot summer day?"

"Hmmm, of course," Kíli said sagely, gazing down at the hobbit. "And what is it, exactly, that you are doing?"

"Um. Hmm." Bilbo looked around. "Putting down roots?"

Kíli's mouth twitched. "I see," he said. "I suppose you will not be needing a hand up from that lovely hole of yours, then."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, just help me up, would you?"

Laughing, Kíli seized Bilbo's offered arm and hauled him straight up into a hearty, back-thumping hug. Ori was right behind him and seemed eager to take his turn at the greetings when they were all interrupted by a low, throaty yowl and a streak of brown fur from around the other end of the smial, barrelling straight through their gathering and startling Kíli into dropping Bilbo right back into the dirt.

A small, shrill voice followed after the cat. "Oh no!" it wailed. "There goes King Thorin again!" A moment later the owner of the voice came round the hill and stopped dead, blinking in large-eyed wonder at the unexpected guests, and at the sight of a very dirty Bilbo sitting awkwardly in a hole. "Oh, hello," said Frodo.

This string of events had caused what looked like a bad shock in both of the newly arrived dwarves. "I -- what?" Ori managed at last, as Kíli furrowed his brow in deep uncertainty. "I mean -- hello -- what? Bilbo --? What?"

"Oh dear. Oh, how humiliating," Bilbo muttered, and covered his face with both hands, although the gesture looked as if it had less to do with humiliation and more to do with an attempt to conceal a sudden, uncontrollable fit of giggles. "I -- lads, ah, I'm so sorry. 'King Thorin,' that's. It's what he named the cat, is all."

"Ah," said Kíli uncertainly, and glanced thoughtfully at the bushes where the creature had disappeared. "I ... suppose I can see the resemblance?"

Bilbo waved him over, still fighting down a few stray giggles. "Frodo, my boy, have you been tormenting that poor beast again?"

"I was _only_ trying to lure him in the back door," the little hobbit said stubbornly. "Only, he would only take the fish so far as the step, and then he wouldn't dare come any further. I guess I got mad and tried to pull his whiskers." He scowled. "I will not be doing _that_ again."

"I should hope not," said Bilbo reprovingly. "It's not particularly nice."

Frodo's frown deepened. "It wasn't supposed to be _nice,_ " he protested, "It was supposed to _work_."

__"That is entirely the wrong attitude to take with your friends, Frodo, and I do not think we shall be inviting King Thorin around again until you have done some more thinking about your manners. Ah -- Kíli, do you suppose you might help me up again? Thank you -- yes -- thanks." Finally on his feet again, Bilbo dedicated a few futile moments to brushing the dirt from his much-abused trousers, before finally giving it up as a lost cause. He looked up again to find himself the center of attention: Fíli, Ori and Frodo were staring at him with a sort of eager impatience that made him blink. "Oh bother, I suppose I am expected to do the introductions, aren't I. Right then. Dwarves, this is my son Frodo: my pride, my joy, my new favourite source of daily torment. Frodo, here are some dwarves. Now, who would like a cup of tea?"_ _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMMMMMM. I suddenly had the urge to pick this up again.
> 
> No promises about the next time I'll have such an urge, so the update schedule for this fic remains "????????" ... but I hope that someday I actually finish it up!
> 
> Anyway hi, enjoy, I love you

In short order, Bilbo had both dwarves and Frodo settled around the table with gigantic mugs of tea clasped in their hands -- because, he reasoned, the guests would be needing an extra boost after what was certainly a long journey, and Frodo would hardly stand to be treated otherwise. As they took their ease he excused himself to change into clean clothes and wash the worst of the dirt off his hands and face. He took the opportunity to give his feet a good brushing as well, because no proper host would entertain guests with messy feet, and a Baggins was nothing if not an exemplary host.

He recognized his mistake immediately when he emerged to catch Kíli midway through a story that was entirely inappropriate for a young Hobbit's ears, and Frodo enjoying it immensely. 

"And that was before I even saw the second horse!" shouted Kíli merrily, waving his mug more as if it were full of ale than tea. "And that's when I said to the innkeeper, I said--"

The fauntling was kicking his feet and giving those undignified shrieks of laughter particular to young children who have not yet learned to be self-conscious. Bilbo had to rush forward to catch the lad's mug before he had knocked it right off the edge of the table.

"Here now!" he exclaimed, setting the mug back in place and giving Kíli a significant glare. "I should have known better than to leave two dwarves alone with an impressionable set of ears. Here now, Frodo, don't you think you should, um ..... go find King Thorin? And ... apologize to him?"

Frodo pouted. "But Da, we have _guests!_ Guests who are _dwarves!_ Can't I--"

"Now now, my boy, I'm sure the guests will still be here at supper time -- you will, won't you? Grand! -- and I'm sure Master Kíli will have an _even better_ story for you then." Bilbo renewed his glare in Kíli's direction and raised his eyebrows, hoping that his notion of "better" was being conveyed clearly to the young dwarf. "In the meantime, I would like a bit of time to catch up with my old friends." Frodo crossed his arm, the pout deepening into a truly impressive little scowl. "I'll let you take some of the dried fish that King Thorin particularly likes, how about that?"

After a moment of solemn consideration, Frodo nodded. "Alright. But I get to ask any questions I like at supper."

Bilbo sighed. "Yes, alright. That should be lovely for all of us. Off you go, then."

Frodo had to be supplied with his offering for the cat and seen off, and then Bilbo had to brew another pot of tea and produce a heaping platter of scones from the larder, but finally he was able to settle down at the table with a sigh. Both Kíli and Ori were sat beaming at him through mouthfuls of scone.

"It is really very good to see you," Bilbo told them, smiling easily in return. "Even if you _do_ seem to harbor intentions of corrupting my dear little son."

"Really very sorry about that," Kíli said cheerfully, obviously free of regret of any kind. Ori nodded in enthusiastic agreement, but his eyes too sparkled with far more mirth than was indicative of a sincere apology.

"He seems like a bright, friendly lad," Ori said through a mouthful of scone (and Bilbo's emotions warred between exasperation at his terrible table manners and real pleasure at the compliment). "A bit of a shock, though! I had no idea Hobbit fauntlings grew so fast."

"Why should you say so?" Bilbo asked curiously. "He's quite small for his age, actually."

Ori exchanged a startled glance with Kíli. "Really? Only, he can't be more than four, maybe five years old, isn't that right?"

"Not at all! He'll be eleven soon." An awkward silence followed this declaration, both dwarves frowning incredulously, and after a moment Bilbo gave an uncomfortable little laugh. "Is ... is there something the matter with that?"

"Well --" Ori began, and then hesitated nervously. Kíli chimed in. "You don't mean to tell us that your _son_ was here in the Shire the whole time we were on our quest?"

"Well, certainly," Bilbo said, frowning. "I only met the lad once or twice before our adventure, if I'm honest, so I hardly remember him. But of course there is nowhere else he would have been!"

"Oh," said Kíli.

Ori squeaked, "But-- but he _is_ your son?"

"Of course! What else should he be?"

The dwarves exchanged another bemused glance, and then subsided with a few muttered words of acknowledgment. For a time the only sounds were the chewing of scones and the slurping of tea. Bilbo looked from one of his friends' faces to the other, puzzled at their uncomfortable expressions. Kíli was frowning into the distance as if trying to solve a very vexing puzzle, while Ori had taken to staring intensely into his cup of tea.

"Right," he said at length, briskly. "Enough of that. I need to hear all of the news from Erebor. How long will you both be staying at Bag End? You are welcome as long as you like, of course."

"Oh," said Ori, looking up from his tea. "Only until tomorrow, I'm afraid. Actually, we are on our way to the Blue Mountains on important business, and it cannot wait. But we could not pass so close by the Shire without seeing how you fare!"

"Only until tomorrow!" cried Bilbo with dismay. "Such a short visit! Well, at least we shall have you here for supper tonight."

Kíli's spirits seemed to lift at the prospect of more food. "Indeed, and I am sure you will lay an excellent table!" He hesitated. "And ... might we expect to meet, er, Frodo's mother at the meal?"

"What? Oh dear me, no," exclaimed Bilbo. "It's true he had a mother, but I'm afraid she passed away. No, no, don't give me those stricken looks -- it was years ago, and it is no harm to ask. It was a terrible accident, but Frodo and I have made a good little family together, and we are doing just fine."

Further discussion along this line was halted abruptly by a loud commotion at the front hall, where Frodo had managed to coax the cat halfway into the door before it changed its mind. The cat's vocal protests brought the three adults clattering to their feet and hastening to intervene. They found the little hobbit gamely trying to match the animal's yowls with his own determined shouts of "Come ON now, King Thorin, you are HARDLY being a good sport about all this!" He had apparently found a bit of rope and managed to affix it around the cat's neck, and was now tugging firmly -- a losing battle, as the cat continued to back itself stubbornly out the door. Bilbo reflected wearily that it really must be a very well-behaved cat after all, as it had not yet swiped at Frodo once with its impressive set of claws.

By the time the wailing child was retrieved and the indignant animal sent on its way (with another bit of fish for its trouble), it was already time to begin the preparations for supper, and any more organized conversation devolved into the sort of disjointed chatter that can take place in between requests for more butter from the larder, or instructions on where to find a very nice ale, still untapped. And of course, Bilbo had so many questions about the rest of the Company, and he could no longer hold back from asking all of them at once!

The dwarves were very much the centre of the supper conversation, gamely answering questions from Bilbo and Frodo both (sometimes all at one time), very often with their mouths still full of food, but really that was quite excusable where there were so many things to say, and so much good food to eat besides.

"And Fíli? How is he handling his responsibilities as Thorin's heir?"

"Do you think I would make a good dwarf? Can you teach me how?"

"Is your mother in Erebor now, Kíli? Ah -- is your business in the Blue Mountains with her, then?"

"If you are all living right there in the middle of a mountain, where do you go to the _bathroom?_ "

Once they were pleasantly full and warmed from the inside by good ale, Ori and Kíli begged off further questions. "With our apologies to both of our gracious hosts, we must be sure to get a good night's sleep tonight -- we should be on the road again before dawn!"

"Of course, of course," sighed Bilbo, struggling to conceal his disappointment. "I've got two bedrooms all made up for the pair of you. Will you be able to carry some letters back to the mountain for the rest of the Company?"

"Of course," said Ori, "Although they will naturally have to wait until our return journey, if they are to travel with us. We will be sure to send a raven as soon as we reach the Blue Mountains, though, to send your regards."

"Lovely, lovely! I will go on and write those letters, though, because it does allow a much more personal touch. Off to bed with you, then, and I will see you both in the morning."

The dwarves nodded, barely covering their yawns, and shuffled down the hallway. Bilbo turned to the much more dubious task of coaxing an overexcited young fauntling to his own bed.

Kíli and Ori were indeed dressed and at the door well before dawn the next morning, and Bilbo felt his eyes go misty as he bid them farewell again.

"I hope it will not be so long before I see any of you again," he said tearfully, hugging them each in turn. "All of you dwarves are welcome any time in Bag End, for as long as you like."

"Even if we are a bad influence on your dear, innocent son?" Kíli said cheekily.

"Even then," agreed Bilbo. " _Especially_ then, perhaps. The lad's life is far too ordinary, here amongst all these fussy hobbits."

Waving merrily, the two dwarves put their feet back on the road and disappeared soon enough around the first bend. With one more nostalgic sigh, Bilbo closed his door and began preparations for breakfast.

Not too long after, just as promised, a raven went winging out of the Blue Mountains, headed home to Erebor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everybody for all the kudos!!! I appreciate every one. Every single kudo.

The raven arrived in Erebor just in time for breakfast.

In the years since he had taken on his full responsibilities as King Under the Mountain, Thorin had fallen into the habit of inviting the varied members of his original Company to breakfast, sometimes one or two at a time, but more often all at once. He liked to tell them that it was because he grew lonely under the burden of kingship, but he knew that they all understood the truth: he really just desperately needed somebody to complain at (about, in no particular order: politics; elven politics in particular; the stubbornness of noble dwarves; how uncomfortable his throne was; the stubbornness of foreign royalty; the stubbornness of elven royalty in particular; the mundanity of trade agreements; and so on). He was also desperate to delegate his royal responsibilities, whenever possible.

Fortunately, these dwarves did love their King, and were bored with the life of leisure their new wealth afforded, besides. They came gladly at his invitation, and they listened to his varied and creative laments, and more often than not, they turned Thorin's breakfasts into warm, merry affairs.

On this particular occasion, all of the Company then present in the mountain (minus Ori, Kíli, and a particular burglar) were gathering once again for breakfast, lured by the promise of a particularly fine cheese selection, freshly arrived from Dale. Balin was the last dwarf to arrive, and when he appeared with was with a large, handsome raven perched comfortably on his left shoulder.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," Balin said in response to Thorin's questioning glance. "Not to interrupt breakfast with business, but I thought this might be a message you would like to hear sooner, rather than later."

The raven swelled its throat to better display the fine iridescent feathers there, and let out a noise that was clearly an imitation of a dwarf clearing his throat. "Greetings and good fortune, Yer Maj," it said importantly, tilting its body forward in an elegant corvid bow, "I am Ketli son of Kürk of Ravenhill, arrived this very hour from the Blue Mountains, and it was a proper strenuous flight to be sure as I am certain you understand." It paused here and tilted its head expectantly.

Rolling his eyes, Thorin reached into a pouch he kept at his belt, extracting a dried mealworm of a species that ravens report to be particularly enjoyable. Ketli snatched it greedily from his fingers and tossed its head back to swallow the treat.

"Many thanks for your kingly generosity, Yer Maj, and so I shall continue straight on with the message, shall I?"

Thorin glanced a question around to his companions, who had already settled in and begun helping themselves to food and drink. They all nodded agreeably, equally curious to hear the news from abroad. "Please do," he said.

Ketli raised its head proudly, repeated the throat-clearing noise, and announced, "Message for Thorin son of Thráin son of Thror, styled Oakenshield, King of Erebor, from Kíli son of Dís son of Thráin, Prince of Erebor, on mission in the name of Erebor to the Blue Mountains."

Here Ketli paused, closing its eyes momentarily in concentration. When it spoke again, its voice had altered to a surprisingly accurate, if hoarse, imitation of Kíli's own voice.

_"Uncle! I hope you are well, and that Erebor has not fallen in my absence. Please give my regards to all the company, and tell Fíli that his face is stupid and he is stupid._

_"Ori and I have successfully reached the Blue Mountains. The journey went fine. There was no sign of orcs and the elves left us alone. We will begin discussions with Mum about next year's migrations tomorrow. Don't worry, I remember all the things you asked me to say! Also tell Fíli that Mum loves me more than him, and she told me so._

_"I am also sending this raven to confirm that we were able to stop by the Shire as planned, and did indeed visit Bilbo. He is in fine health and just the same as always. We ate very, very well! He had this pie -- I don't even know how to describe it! And roast beef, and a cake that -- No, I must stop, or else I will wither away from hunger. I fear I will be perpetually hungry in between visits to Bag End, and only satisfied once I am fed a proper Baggins meal._

_"But Uncle, it was all very strange. He does indeed have a son, as he said -- a lovely and clever boy, and he very much appreciated my story about the horses, Fíli will know the one -- but it is not quite what I expected. Little Frodo was born before Bilbo ever left on our quest! From what I can tell, Bilbo just up and left the both of them to run off into the wilds with us. I don't think they were ever even married! I must admit, this is not at all living up to all the stories of Hobbitish propriety. It doesn't sound like our Bilbo at all. But that is what he told us!_

_"In any case, Bilbo and Frodo are living on their own now. It sounds like Frodo's mum died years ago, but I can say that the both of them seem to be doing well, and Bilbo is a good father now, even if there was some funny business back then. Oh, and when I have more time, don't let me forget to tell you about the cat._

_"I have to go now -- they are serving supper soon, and even if it won't be the same as Bilbo's pie, I really am quite hungry. Please don't forget to tell Fíli the thing about his stupid face. Love, Kíli."_

At last the raven stopped speaking, blinked twice, and shook itself all over. "End of message," it declared in its own voice. Around it the dwarves had fallen into heated discussion in low voices, but Ketli maintained its focus on Thorin, and in particular on the little pouch of mealworms at his belt. Rather than being hasty to reward his messenger, however, the King seemed quite frozen in contemplation of all that he had just heard. 

"If you ask me," said Ketli, "And I know that you did not, but for that I am willing to forgive you on account of how you probably have a good many things on your royal brain. But if you _did_ ask me, Yer Maj, I would go on and tell you that this Bilbo does not seem at all to be worth your time or concern, if he is the sort to leave mother and child to their own devices while he goes trotting off to all ends of Middle Earth on a quest that is not even his own. That is what I would tell you." It paused, then added hopefully, "And if you were to give me a little extra something in reward and thanks for my good advice, I am sure that we would all agree that it was well done."

Thorin roused himself from distraction with a pained look, and produced another treat for the raven. "There, that's more than enough for you, greedy thing. If you will wait, I will dictate a reply later." Apparently contented, the animal flew to a shelf in the corner of the chamber, tucked its head in against its breast, and promptly fell asleep, happily oblivious to the arguments building around it.

"This is entirely irregular," Glóin announced loudly, drawing the attention of the group. "I would not have thought it of Bilbo, to leave a mother to raise his son on her own. I don't know what to make of it!"

Balin nodded, but added in a milder tone, "We must keep in mind that hobbit customs may be different than ours. This may be entirely within the bounds of their expectations."

"Although I do note that he is thought to be reckless by hobbit standards," Dori mused with a frown.

"You are all forgetting one important thing," said Nori. "This news comes to us through Kíli. I would like to hear it from a ... shall we say, a more reliable source?"

The others grimaced and nodded at that, even Fíli. "My brother does not always see things ... quite as they are, it is true."

"But Ori was there as well!" protested Dori. "Surely he would have understood the situation, and set the Prince straight."

Nori shook his head. "I would not count on it. Our brother may be infinitely perceptive when information comes in the form of books and letters, Dori, but he is not nearly so attentive to the social norms of the world." Reluctantly, Dori muttered an acknowledgment of this point, and subsided.

"What do you think, Uncle?" said Fili, and all eyes turned toward the head of the table.

Thorin, who had been silent for the length of the discussion, took a slow breath. "Bilbo is not married," he said.

The others exchanged a doubtful glance. "Er, yes," said Fíli. "Kíli mentioned that."

"Right," said Thorin, and paused. "Good. What were we discussing, again?"

There was a brief silence at the table. Then, Balin nodded firmly and said, "I propose we return to our original goal: we must find a way to convince Master Baggins to return to the Mountain. If he will not come for himself, then the best strategy will be to convince him that this is what would be best for Frodo. It seems to me that we must send a second party to more carefully discern the situation: this time, we should send some of our more, shall we say, perceptive members. What say you all?"

Fíli looked at him with a grin. "Balin, it sounds to me like you just volunteered!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I can't remember who gave me the idea of cheeky nosey ravens, but I definitely can't take credit. Whoever you are, thanks -- it is the best kind of raven.
> 
> \- In retrospect, Ketli's personality is also heavily influenced by the Blind Bruiser from the game Sunless Sea, which has excellent writing and comes highly recommended from yours truly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, when I started this fic (so long ago), I had no intention of stretching it on for so many chapters before Bilbo and Thorin are ..... even in the same room ....... or general geographical location. But the story has taken on a mind of its own. I'm very sorry -- I promise we'll get there soon!!

In the end, it was agreed that a variety of social talents were necessary for the chosen endeavor: Balin's skill at social analysis and political maneuvering, Fíli's quick wit and persuasive charisma, and Bofur's singular ability to set any Man, Hobbit or Dwarf at ease. Some months passed before Thorin could spare the three of them at once, but in due time the trio set out on their mission, attaching themselves to one of the new trade caravans making its way across Middle Earth.

When they finally reached Bag End, late on a cool Autumn evening, Bilbo was not at home.

That is not to say that _nobody_ was at home. At Bofur's firm knock, the door opened promptly, revealing a friendly, rosy-cheeked, and entirely unfamiliar face. The stranger looked to be a touch older than Bilbo but still in the prime of his life, with auburn hair only just beginning to shift toward grey and a fine web of laugh lines at the corner of each eye. This hobbit looked the dwarves over with a quick, assessing glance, and broke into an enthusiastic grin.

"Well, hello there, lads," he said cheerfully, and then turned his head to shout back into the smial. "Hamfast, come see who's here! It's _dwarves_!"

"Er," said Bofur. "I don't think--"

"Well, don't just stand out there on the doorstep," the hobbit said. "Come in! Come in!" And the dwarves found themselves bustled hastily into the front hall. Before they had quite caught their bearings, they had been encouraged into shedding their outerwear and boots, and the stranger had begun to talk of sharing "a good, strong drink." Bofur, rendered uncharacteristically speechless, had taken to simply nodding along with whatever the fellow said. Fíli began to shoot Balin increasingly pleading looks.

Before any of them had regained their footing, a second hobbit had appeared around the corner, this one no more familiar than the first. This one had a thoroughly wild and unmanageable set of brown curls, both on the top of his head and on the tops of his feet, and had a sturdy little pipe tucked into the corner of his mouth. "Well well, dwarves indeed," he said cheerfully. "Shall we presume that you are some of Master Bilbo's lot?"

"Master Bilbo!" repeated Bofur helplessly, pouncing with relief on the first familiar name. "His lot! Yes!"

The new hobbit nodded, beaming. "Good, good. Welcome, and make yourselves at home, and all that. I'm sorry to say that Master Bilbo is not at this moment at home -- took himself off to Rivendell for a visit with the elves -- but he did tell us that on the off chance any of you dwarves popped up in his absence, we should give you the best hospitality we could!"

Fíli's face twisted up. "Rivendell! What would possess him to go there!"

"Same as I said," the first hobbit said agreeably. "An awful long ways to travel, I said, not that you lot seem to mind all that. But Master Bilbo does have his habits, so off he went. But let's not stand around in tis hallway any longer! You must be terribly weary from the road! Please, let's save the introductions and discussions until we're all sat around the fire with a nice, strong drink."

And who could say no to that?

Soon enough the five of them were settled in low, comfortable chairs around a merry fire. The hobbits produced delicate crystal glasses of a lovely, amber brandy that seemed to glow in the firelight, and at the first sip, the dwarves felt the tension begin to release from their muscles. They settled back with a sigh.

"Now, I do reckon you must be confused, so let us explain a few things," the brown-haired hobbit said. "I am Hamfast Gamgee, Master Bilbo's neighbor and gardener, and this here is my husband Gondo. It is very nice to meet the three of you, as we have heard all manner of wild tales from Master Bilbo, and it would be quite a treat to put some faces to all the names."

"A pleasure to meet you as well!" Fíli said. "I am Fíli, sister-son of Thorin who rules in Erebor, and these are Balin and Bofur, close advisors to the throne and members of the Company who retook the Mountain."

Gondo's face lit up. "Fancy that, my dear, we are at this moment sharing a drink with royalty!"

"And I am sure all of Hobbiton will know about it by Sunday if you have your way," Hamfast said fondly. "Now, to explain: Gondo and I have taken on the care of Bag End while Master Bilbo is on his latest adventure, and more importantly, we have taken the care of little Master Frodo, who is just now asleep in his room."

"If you wish to wait," Gondo added helpfully, "Master Bilbo is due to return within the next couple of days, and I am sure he will be very glad to see you!"

"That would be delightful, thank you," Balin said with heartfelt relief. "It has been a long journey, and it would be a great shame if we had to leave without seeing Bilbo at all. With your leave, we will accept your offer of hospitality, and wait for his return."

"That will be just fine," Hamfast said. "Just grand. A pleasure to have you. Now, I am sure you are eager to rest from the road, but before we retire for the evening -- a bit more brandy? And, while I have the chance to ask, did Master Bilbo really have an argument with a _troll_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have a bit more in this chapter, but this was a nice point to make a chapter break -- so here's a quick one. There will be a bit more of Hamfast and Gondo in Chapter 7, as well as Bilbo's return. Then let's see if we can't get some hobbits on the road to Erebor!


End file.
